


Scissors || The Golden Feather AU

by FishCatCrafts



Series: Golden Feathers AU [3]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Avian Au, Dream is a dick, Hurt/Comfort, Hybrids, Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Phil Watson-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Piglin Hybrid Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Piglin Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Protective Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), TOMMYWINGIT, TechnoBlade, Tommy Hybrid, TommyInnit-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Winged Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Winged Philza, Winged TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Winged!Tommy, hybrid tommy, philza minecraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-14 05:16:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28665348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FishCatCrafts/pseuds/FishCatCrafts
Summary: Part 3 of the Golden Feathers AU-He didn't mean to push it- didn't mean to make Dream mad. Tommy thought all of the punishments he had before were bad, but this was really, truly, the worst.
Relationships: None, platonic only
Series: Golden Feathers AU [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2099328
Comments: 39
Kudos: 1090





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Will be a 2-Parter!
> 
> Warnings;  
> • A lil Gore-y  
> • Abuse  
> • Breakdowns

Flying wasn’t allowed in Dream’s World, everyone knew that and followed that rule to a T. Wings were never clipped and no punishments were needed; Clipping was inhumane and should never be done regardless.

There were only two avian hybrids to worry about anyway, so Dream wasn’t too worried.

Tommy knew not to fly since day one and actually was very mindful of that rule, breaking it only when catching himself while falling.  _ “It’s not flying, it’s gliding!”  _ He’d defend if caught. Even Quackity would get a little antsy about Tommy abusing the loop-hole.

But nothing came from it. Infact, Dream either didn’t notice or didn’t care enough to do anything about it. So it was fine, it was all fine

_________________

  
  


Tommy’s feathers ruffled at his sides in a failed attempt to get warm. The cold winter air flew freely through Tnret, the flaps of the entrance turned inward. The feathers did little to shield against the wind. His wings were speckled with bald spots, the exposed flesh just as cold as the rest of him. 

He barely heard the crunch of snow from outside his tent as someone neared. The flap to his tent was pushed back and a familiar face peaked out from the thin curtain. “Ranboo?”

“Tommy!”

Ranboo entered the tiny tent, couching to properly fit within the small space. He sat on the bed next to Tommy, clawed hand coming up to gently rest on the avian’s shoulder. “It’s freezing out here. Why don’t you have a jacket?”

Tommy’s chest tightened in anger, “I didn’t exactly have much time to grab proper winter items, asshole.” 

Ramboo exhaled slowly and pulled up his inventory to search for some sort of winter apparel. He found a thick blanket and a small hoodie, both were used very rarely but he kept on his person just in case. Ranboo held the jacket out to Tommy, “Here, take this. It’ll help.”

Tommy reached out tentatively and held the jacket in his arms. He didn’t quite know how to put it on with his wings, “I can’t wear this.” Tommy gently ruffled his feathers out in motion to his wings.

“You’re free to cut holes in the back. It’s old and you need it more than me.” It was a bit of a lie, the jacket was practically brand new but Tommy didn’t need to know that.

“I dont need your pity jacket.” Tommy glared at the hybrid. 

Ranboo rolled his different colored eyes, pupils narrowing at the younger. “Don't think of it as a pity jacket, take it as a gift.”

Tommy pondered it for a while before giving in as another chill krept up his spine. He huffed in indignation, pulled out a sword, and carefully cut two holes in the back of the hoodie. Tommy slid it over his head and only struggled an ounce with getting his wings through the holes, sighing in contentment as the jacket heated and gave him the much-needed warmth. 

“You can have this too-”

“I dont need any more of your pity shit.”

“Again, take it as a gift and not pity “shit”.” 

The enderman hybrid pulled the blanket out from his inventory, gently pulling it over Tommy’s collapsed wings. He chose to ignore their awful state and resorted to letting Phil or Quackity know when he returned. “Get some rest, okay? You look like you need it.”

Tommy glared at the older as he laughed, tugging the blanket further over his shoulders. “I dont need some bitch telling me what to do.”

Ranboo held his hands up, a playful smile still on his face. “Okay, okay! Dont rest then!” He paused for a second. “I just wanted to come and thank you for not ratting me out-”

“You’ve thanked me already.”

“But I also wanted to return some of the kindness by giving you something to help.”

Tommy’s eyes flicked to the ground, holding his stare there. He seemed to struggle to come up with words. The blond sighed, whined, threw his head back, and then groaned. “Okay, fine, thanks Ranboo. For the shitty blanket and jacket.”

Ranboo smiled down at Tommy and ruffled his greasy hair softly, somewhat regretting it after seeing how gross it was. Tommy unconsciously leaned into the warmth of Ranboo’s hand, an almost silent coo fluttering in his chest. The enderman’s heart twisted with guilt at the sound, so he retracted his hand (much to his dismay, as Tommy whined) and shuffled to his feet again. “I better get going. I’ll come back later, okay?”

“Okayy.” Tommy drew out the last syllable, watching sadly as Ranboo walked back to the Nether Portal.

He shifted slightly on the bed, laying down on the uncomfortable straw mattress and pulled the blanket closer to his chest. It felt nice to have something so soft and comforting, almost like someone was really there.

_______________

  
  


The next morning came quicker than it had before. Tommy had actually had a relatively good sleep, waking up tangled in the blanket. He sat up, stretching out his back and wings. A nice, loud pop filled the tent as he sighed. 

“Tommy.”

“WHAT THE FUCK??”

Tommy shrieked, wings fluffing up and eyes wide in terror. Dream stood at the opening to his tent, tilting down to look at the blond. The avian groaned as he leaned back in the bed, hands over his eyes. “Whyyyy? Why would you do that to me?”

“Where’d you get the blanket and jacket?”

Tommy was somewhat confused, but answered honestly. “Ranboo visited last night and gave me them.”

“And you took it? The pity items?”

Tommy stared at the mask, confused. “Ranboo said to take them as gifts.”

“Gifts can still be of pity, Tommy. Take it off, we’re destroying them.”

“What?” Tommy looked at the man incredulously. “You can’t do that! These are mine!”

Dream stayed silent for a few seconds, the black eyes of the mask staring at the boy blankly. The man entered the tent and grabbed Tommy by the hood of the jacket. He gasped and scrambled to his feet, trying to follow Dream and keep pace. The blanket was draped over one of his wings as they walked, the wind pulling the ends. “What are you doing?” 

“You’re going to blow up all that. All of it.”

Tommy’s heart dropped. These were the few items that actually gave him comfort, he couldn’t let them go. But this was Dream, his friend, if he thought removing the items was for the best then he’d do it.

Dream dug the four block deep hole and motioned to it with his outstretched hand. Tommy sighed and shifted the blanket from his wing, placing it inside the hole. He pulled the jacket from his shoulder and tossed it in too. “Anything else?” Dream inquired, a certain edge to his voice.

Tommy shook his head no, arms and wings wrapped tightly around him as he shook. His feathers were puffed out against the wind again, the balding spots barely visible from how fluffed up they were. 

The green-clad man lit a stick of TNT and released it into the pit unceremoniously. The clothing exploded in flames, Tommy edged just a bit closer to soak in the last remaining warmth the clothing would give him. He sighed as the fires faded, another shiver wracking his body.

Dream nudged the boy with his elbow, walking past and onward toward the tent again. Tommy dragged behind him, shoeless foot aching from the cold snow. “What now?”

The only notion that Dream heard him was the small tilt of his head. They both entered the tent, somewhat short in space, and sat on the bed. “I have a surprise for you.”

Tommy perked up at that. The last time Dream had a surprise, he had given him the trident. It had been one of both the best and the worst days of Tommy’s exile. “What is it now?” Tommy’s voice lacked any sort of attitude that would normally be present.

Dream seemed to smirk if the lift of his mouth and small peak of his smile was anything to show. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of scissors. Tommy’s heart plummeted into his stomach, fear gripping his chest harshly. “W-What?” He instinctively tightened his wings against his back.

Dream said nothing, only placed the scissors to the side and gently slid his fingers over Tommy’s white and red feathers. The avian jumped and backed away slightly from the touch. “It’s for your own good, Tommy.”

“What’s for my own good?” He was scared to ask but needed to know.

Dream reached for the scissors again and pressed his fingers between Tommy’s feathers. “I’m doing this for your own good, Tommy. People are starting to visit more, and I can’t have my friend leaving me. I can’t have my little bird flying away.”

“But I haven’t- I didn’t even think of flying away!” 

The masked man said nothing, only grabbed tightly onto the tips of Tommy’s wings and yanked the appendage out. He hissed at the feeling of manipulation, throat choked with unshed tears. He pulled against Dream’s gloves hands as the coldness of the blade rested on the feathers. “It shouldn’t hurt if you’d just stop struggling. It’s for your own good!”

Tommy shook, gently tugging his wing back to try and get away. Dream’s hold only tightened, lining the scissors up just a bit too high. He snapped them closed with a swift motion, the long flight feather falling to the ground soundlessly. Tommy choked out a sob at the sight, hands shaking against his chest. 

Dream continued with his work, slowly and painfully cutting feather after feather from his wings. It was a sloppy job and had actually led to some bleeding and pain due to just how high he cut. Tommy was shaking and crying by the end of it, both mangled wings curled closely to his back. He couldn’t look now, not with how he felt already. 

The man got to his feet, sliding the scissors back into his pocket and grabbing a few of the clipped feathers. “I'll be back tomorrow.” He left without another word, leaving a shaking, pitiful Tommy in his wake.

_____________

  
  


Dream stepped through the Nether Portal and into his server. He walked down the pathway and towards L’manburg, feathers clutched in his hand while some smaller were in his pocket. The flight feathers were pretty long, pastel red and somewhat messy. He held one in his hand and played with the jagged edge before placing the bent mess in his pocket once more.

He walked into L’manburg, nodding his head to Tubbo who stood with Fundy and Quackity. The duck-avian’s wings fluttered behind him somewhat nervously while Fundy’s ears perked. Dream waved at his fiancee and continued walking towards a specific house.

The man knocked a few times on the door, listening patiently as the man on the other side climbed down a ladder and to the main floor. The door swung open and Dream soaked in the sight of the familiar survivalist Philza, his hat somewhat titled to the side and an apron tossed over his robe messily. The apron was covered in food. “Afternoon Phil.”

“Oh, hello Dream. Did you need something?”

Dream nodded slowly. “I feel it’d be better if we talked inside.”

Phil’s wings perked in interest as he stepped aside. “Of course, come in!”

Dream stepped inside the small, two story home. Phil motioned to the ladder to the second floor and followed his guest up. They sat at Phil’s small dining table, a cup of tea in the older man’s hands. 

The fun begins.

“I’m afraid… I have some bad news.” Dream mocked sadness, turning his head away from Phil. 

“What do you mean?”

Dream wordlessly pulled a handful of feathers from his pocket, placing them softly on the table. Phil’s eyes widened as he grabbed one of the golden feathers in his shaky hand. “You don't mean…?”

Dream nodded quietly. “I found next to his crumpled body. He… He jumped from a wooden pillar.” 

Dream pretended to get choked up, straining his voice with the effort to sound terribly upset. Phil seemed to buy it as he clutched the feather close to his chest, too shocked to say much. The masked man stood up from his chair softly, the scrapes of the wood against the floor loud in the silent room. “I wanted to- to tell you first before the others. I’ll leave you to be.”

Dream left quietly, Phil could hear him climb down the ladder and then close the door softly as he left. The gray-winged avian pulled the feather from his chest and clutched it delicately between his fingers. He reached for one of Tommy’s red feathers too, holding it just as carefully.

He looked down at the two feathers as tears pooled in his eyes and slid down his face in waves. Phil choked down a sob and rubbed the feather between his fingers. He could feel the smooth edge under his finger tip- 

Wait. Smooth?

Phil looked down at the long, white and red feather through his tears. He wiped them away with the back of his sleeve and inspected the feather closely. The top was somewhat bloody and the feather really seemed to be much too long. He thought more on it and realized that this was one of Tommy’s flight feathers- the name still struck a chord in his heart.

Why was the feather so cleanly cut though? If Tommy had jumped, then it must’ve either snapped off crookedly or it would still be attached to his body. And even if he jumped, wouldn’t he be able to glide down? It was even like he hadn’t done it before, at least or so he’s been told. He couldn’t have been that far gone to let himself die like that.

_ Where was the death message in chat?  _

Phil suddenly felt infuriated; a bloodied, perfectly cut feather was a story in and of itself, but no death message? 

Tommy didn’t really kill himself.

And Dream was hiding something.

  
  


______________

  
  


The night couldn’t have come fast enough for Tommy, a time where he couldn’t see the horrid mess that was his wings. He refused to relight his torches, refused to light his lanterns, he even refused to leave his tent in fear of the moonlight catching his feathers enough to see. 

He felt broken and cold, but he couldn’t physically feel it. His eyes were blood-shot red but the tears that caused it were long gone. 

Tommy felt empty.

He laid unmoving in his hay-built bed for hours now, eyes closed and chest heaving with strained effort of crying. He’s hardly ever felt this low before; not during the first wars, during the election, Pogtopia, the last war, none of it. Not even when Tubbo exiled him, did he feel so void.

Tommy felt another hiccuping sob leave his mouth, but no tears followed.

He drifted into an uncomfortable sleep like that, head filled with static and chest aching.

  
  


.

.

.

  
  


The morning wasn’t any better. 

Tommy woke up believing it was like any other day; he stretched his back and muscles out, popped his shoulders, and stretched his wings. It wasn’t until he saw the shadow of his wings on the floor and felt the burning in his eyes that it hit him. 

He spent most of the morning hunched over in his bed, stomach growling every so often with the need to eat. Those hunger noises soon turned into stabs, and then pains. Tommy soon realized just how little he had eaten, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. The pain from hunger felt nice, replacing the hollowness in his chest.

It wasn’t until Dream arrived again that he did much of anything. 

Tommy turned his head slightly in the direction of the crunching snow, long bangs following over his eyes in a mess of blond. He didn’t bother moving it as Dream approached, only peering through the strands uninterested. “How are you feeling today Tommy?”

He turned away from Dream, only releasing a breath of air from his nose. 

“Awhhh, dont be like that!” 

Dream sat next to the teen, pressing a hand somewhat violently against Tommy’s back in a warning kinda way. “I helped you Tommy. What would’ve happened if you had risked flying away?” Dream dug his fingers somewhat painfully into Tommy’s wings.

“Dream.”

They both hadn’t heard the approaching footsteps, one too focused on the other and the other very stuck in his mind. 

Phil stood at the entrance of the tent, wings unfurled and feathers on end while a blaze set off in his eyes. He was pissed, and he wasn’t even hiding it. “You told me he was dead.”

The fingers in Tommy’s feathers dug deeper, a small cry of pain escaping his mouth from the pain. Phil’s eyes flickered to the boy for a second then to Dream. 

He walked into the small tent and grabbed Dream’s hand by the wrist in a vice grip. “Hands off my son,  _ Dream _ .”

Dream seemed to freeze under Phil’s gaze, suddenly realizing just how much he fucked up. He yanked his wrist from Phil’s grip and quietly exited the tent. Phil watched him go, eyes softening as Dream’s figure disappeared in the Nether Portal. “I’m here now, I’m here.”

Tommy was shaking like a leaf as Phil crouched in front of him, grabbing the boy’s hands in his own. He flinched at the touch, but the soft cooing from Phil’s chest brought the boy down from his heightened state of panic. Tommy blinked twice, eyes becoming more clear. “Phil?” His voice was so rough that it broke the man’s heart.

“Hey Tommy, it’s me.” 

The young avian’s chest stuttered in a breath, throat closing as tears slid slowly down his face. Tommy leaned forward and buried himself into Phil’s arms, head pounding from the force of his cries. 

Phil gently held onto the boy, a hand gently on his wings (he pretended not to notice the dried blood and the flinch) and one petting the backside of his head. “I’m here Tommy, I’m here.”

“Phil,” 

“Yeah?” 

“I’m scared.”

His heart twisted and the fingers in Tommy’s hair paused for a second. “You don't have to be afraid anymore.”

He felt the boy nod against his chest, the classic green robe muffling the small sobs that evidently shook the kid. Phil gently pulled the cloak from off his shoulders and onto Tommy’s fastening the clasp gently and carefully wiping a few stray tears from his son’s red, caved in cheeks. “I’m going to take you far away, okay? No more Dream, not more Log… whatever.”

“But-” Tomy hiccuped lightly. “But Dream is my friend, isn’t he? Wont he be mad if I left?”

The question burned anger through Phil’s chest, the warm sensation tingling in his fingertips. He wanted to kill the green bastard, but he couldn’t act on those irrational emotions now. Not with a broken boy in his arms. “No, Tommy. He’s not your friend. I’m your friend, aren’t I?”

A pause.

“But you killed Wil…” 

Tommy’s voice was so soft and quiet that Phil had hardly heard him, but the flash of guilt in his eyes proved that Phil had. Tommy looked up at him somewhat fearfully, but the older just held him closer. “I want you to know that I regret that. Everyday of my life, I regret what I did to him. He didn’t deserve that, even if he asked for it.”

Tommy nodded his head slowly, believing his words almost too easily. 

Phil gently pulled the boy to his feet, flinching at the disgusting sound of dry blood cracking. “Let’s get you somewhere safe, mate.”

Tommy nodded, nearly falling over in his dad’s arms. Phil gently lifted the boy into his arms, hands under his knees and under the wings on his back. He spread his gray wings outward, relishing in the feeling of wind under his unused feathers until it hit him. 

Tommy wouldn’t be doing this.

Not for months, if not a year or two. 

  
  


_________

  
  


Phil landed with a crunch, the snow under his boots cold and rough. He walked forward, gazing down at the sleeping teen in his arms. His bones practically stabbed into Phil’s arms, an uncomfortable and sickening feeling festering in the older’s stomach.

He gently walked up the stone steps and prod the door three times with his foot.  _ ‘Tap, tap…. tap, tap, tap’ _ . 

The door swung open almost violently, a pair of crimson eyes narrowed down at the avian before softening with familiarity. Phil smiled softly but shouldered his way through the door. He walked in front of the fireplace and placed Tommy carefully onto the couch, making sure the younger was on his stomach. The teen’s chopped wings fell gently over the edge of the couch, hardly even touching the ground.

“Phil? What’s going- oh god.”

Even the Blood God himself was shocked, eyes widening a fraction of the size and hands freezing at his sides. “What happened to him?”

Techno kneeled next to his father and gently placed a hand on Tommy’s head, parting the hair and gently sifting his fingers through the greasy strands. 

“Dream got to him.”

That was enough for the piglin’s blood to run cold and the whites of his eyes to shift to black. The voices were calling for blood and vengeance, his tusks glinting in anger. The emotion rolled off of him in waves as Phil laid a hand gently over his eldest’s hand. “I know, I know.” He looked up and into Techno’s eyes, a flash of anger sparking in the blue eyes. “But we need to focus on him right now.”

Techno huffed, air puffing from his pig-snout to relieve some stress and anger. “Alright. Let me grab some potions and some water.”

Phil nodded as the piglin walked off. The blond sighed, a hand swiping over the bags under his eyes. “What am I going to do…?” He spoke softly, eyes trained on the shivering, whimpering kid in front of him. 

He took too sitting the boy up and removing his torn shirt and mangled clothing. There were a few bruises under the shirt, blues and purples fading to green and brown. A large gash stretched across his mid-section, dangerously close to the base of Tommy’s wings on the other side. The shirt was stained in the blood from the wound. It was red and hot to the touch, a sure sign that an infection was setting in. 

Techno came back with a pail of water, a set of rags, and a bunch of medical equipment and potion. Phil rinsed a rag in the luke-warm water and began the work of cleaning off the short, white and golden feathers. They were chopped and splayed out in a way that can only be painful, feathers crooked and in dying need of preening. 

The blood caking the feathers was crusting and practically flaked off at the slightest movement. The only active blood source was from the trimmed blood-feathers; a kind of feather that would kill any normal bird if cut, basically a visual vein on the wings. Dream had cut it haphazardly, obviously knowing very little of the trimming and preening habits of birds. 

Pet birds weren’t forbidden, just a little odd to avians, but some humans and other creatures chose to collect and keep them as pets. Trimming flight feathers wasn’t unheard-of when it comes to the small birds, but it still made any avian queasy at the sight of a flightless bird. 

“He needs to eat. He’s nothing but skin and bones at this point.” Techno pointed out, eyes focused on the sharply protruding hip bones on the teen.

Phil sighed and nodded, tossing the somewhat-bloodied rag in the bucket. “I’ll prepare some soup. Can you flush the open wounds with healing potion and stitch the gap on his side? The potion should heal the injury up mostly, but he’ll need stitches for that bit of a cut.”

Techno only grunted in response, working with delicate hooves at the dirt and scum in the wound. Phil watched for a few seconds more before turning into the small kitchen. He pulled out the ingredients for mushroom stew and then a healing potion on the side. 

He finished the soup and added just a tad bit of healing potion inside of the soup. Enough to give the boy more energy. 

Phil entered the room with a single, small bowl full. The soup clanked softly against the side as he set it on the side table. Tommy shifted quietly in his sleep, a long, whiney coo sounding in his chest. Phil’s heart cried out at the sound as he sunk to his knees next to his son, holding his hand in his own. He left a few soft chirps of his own. The fidgeting of the youngest soothed at the sound as his eyelids softly flinched open.

Waking up from passing out wasn’t as luxurious as movies made it out to be. There was a throbbing, intense pain behind his eyes and a slow pulse in his side. His wings ached as he gently splayed the feathers out. 

Tommy’s eyes cracked open and he could just barely make out the blurred shapes of two people in front of him. He had let a whimper out of his mouth and did his best to curl up further into the wool couch. “Hey, hey Toms, it’s okay mate. It’s just us.”

The familiar voice gently coaxed him away from his curled position, a warm hand comforting on his shoulder. He stifled a cry of pain at the burning in his side. “Hurts.”

“I know,” the hand moved to his hair and took to gently pulling knots from the strands. “I know it does.”

“Can you eat anything?”

Tommy’s eyes widened at the second voice, blurred vision focusing on the mess of pink. Pink. This pink was familiar, unsettling, and struck him with fear. His skin crawled with bumps as a chill forced the hair on the back of his neck to stand. His feathers, the soft downy ones at least, fluffed up. “He- no. I can’t- please.” 

His eyes widened into saucers. Phil could almost see the intense fear behind the boy’s dull, blue eyes. “Hey, hey. Calm down son. Techno is safe.” 

“No- no, he’s not- He’s not safe.” Tommy stuttered, hands shaking violently. “T- I’m sorry, please. Dont- Just dont hurt me.”

Phil pulled his hand from Tommy’s hair and looked at the boy with pity. He was so terrified, shaking intensely and clawing at his skin with short, broken nails. “Tommy- Toms… he isn’t going to hurt you. I’ll protect you.”

He pulled the broken child into his arms, a soft coo filling the air as he rocked Tommy in his arms. The boy’s fingers latched onto Phil’s green shirt. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

The shaking turned into crying which turned into sobs and eventually into a forced sleep. He passed out in Phil’s arms, tears dried and caked in the corners of his eyes. 

“It’ll all be okay.”


	2. Punishments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life has been good for the past 2 weeks, but all things have to come to an end eventually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** I changed Tommy's wing pattern and colors in both of these chapters! 
> 
> Warnings;  
> • Blood  
> • Description of Violence  
> • Anxious Ticks
> 
> Check out this artwork I drew for this series too!
> 
> https://www.instagram.com/p/CKHTHA8pPlk/?igshid=1g074vzl3a5at

His fingers stroked his feathers slowly, searching for any irregularities in the texture. He latched onto a ruffled, partially bent feather and yanked it from his skin. The force caused only a slight twinge of pain, almost unnoticeable anymore. “Tommy, please stop.”

The boy jumped slightly, accidentally pulling more feathers from his wings. Tommy felt a hot flash of guilt creep over his skin as he held the new down between his fingers. “S’rry.”

A sigh, “It’s okay. We need to find a distraction to stop you from doing that.”

Tommy knew that it really wasn’t okay, not really, anyway. He wasn’t blind to the state of his feathers; almost gray-washed and way too dull. The white looked more gray than anything and the gold dulled to a mucky brown-ish color. The red that marked his primaries had been trimmed down to stubs, cropped. 

It had taken a week before Tommy could look at his wings without curling into himself and crying.

His wings were coated with bald patches. Much more visible flesh than feathers, at this point. He had developed the nervous tick of over-preening, pulling new and old feathers from his wings. Dream would only side-eye him when he did it, making false-concerned statements. It got worse as his exile went on. Eventually his feathers would grow thinner, growing in sparsity. “from stress, most likely.” is what Phil said.

The first time he was caught was by Techno, who had forced Tommy’s hands from the irritated flesh and covered the exposed skin in healing sauve. 

It was more emotional when Phil saw it for the first time. The older avian had gently pried his fingers from his own wings. They talked (although Phil did most of the talking) about the tendency, how often Tommy would do it, and what caused it. The younger felt so much better after learning that it wasn’t an abnormal thing to do; most birds/avians did it when overly stressed.

“Come here.” Phil pat the area in front of him, a soft smile on his face. 

Tommy moved to sit in front of his dad, wings splayed to his sides. He somewhat proudly took note of the longer length wings had grown, a few of the new flight feathers pushing out the old, clipped ones.

He turned his head and watched as Phil grabbed the small vial next to the couch. It was full of this lotion stuff, made partially of bone meal and magma cream, a dash of healing pot turned the salve somewhat shiny and pink. Phil gathered it onto the exposed, red skin. It was cooling and relieved the burning irritation from the pulling. “Let’s find a replacement for this, okay?”

Tommy was only mildly listening, too comforted by the soft touches and kneading. His head lulled forward as a gentle chirping noise filled the air. Phil gently laughed and removed his hands from Tommy’s wings. The younger failed to hold back the whine deep in his throat. “You need to eat some before you can go to sleep.” Phil helped the younger to his feet.

Tommy reluctantly followed Phil to the small kitchenette, sitting down on one of the chairs in the room. It has been two weeks already and Tommy was still adjusting to this affection. It felt foreign and odd to have someone legitimately care for him, to treat him with kindness. “Let's get you some meat, okay? Something to add some fat to those bones.”

The teasing jab was a little more hurtful than intended, but Tommy swallowed the pang in his chest. He was skinny, malnourished for months and lacking proper food would do that to a person, but Tommy thought he was getting better. The coat Phil gave him when he first arrived was finally starting to feel less baggy. That must’ve been some progress.

“Here you go.” 

Phil handed Tommy a bowl with chicken and potato stew, the meat chunks floating on the surface. He grabbed the spoon and ate the meal slowly, food hitting his stomach and settling the quiet growling. 

A knock on the door had his feathers ruffled and hair standing. He sent a fearful look in Phil’s direction, who only looked towards the door in confusion. There was only one knock, something that no one used; the code was two knocks, pause, then three. Phil gently pushed Tommy to his feet and up the ladder, where he was sat on the bed with a blanket over his shoulders. “Stay here. I’ll check who it is.”

Tommy nodded and grabbed the edges of the blanket, pulling it closer to his body. His wings were folded awkwardly behind him, but he was too focused on the rapid beating of his heart to notice.

Phil gave the boy one last look, squeezing his hand carefully, before descending the ladder opening the door. The voices were muffled, but it was still bone-chillingly clear who it was.

His heart stopped and dropped into his stomach, gentle fluttering of his feathers stilling in absolute fear. Tommy suppressed the whimper in the back of his throat, succumbing to the panic. He bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, head fuzzy with panic-caused cotton. 

Downstairs, Phil could just barely hear the sound of his youngest’s labored breaths. He did his best to rest the worry in his chest and put on a fake smile for the  _ guest _ . “Dream! What are you doing here?” He held the door open with his hand and allowed his wing to expand to shield the inside almost noticeably.

“Philza? Where’s Technoblade?” 

Phil bit back the urge to reply snarkily, instead reigning in his temper. There was a seething anger in his blood that begged to be relinquished. “He’s out hunting for food. He should be back soon.”

“Do you mind if I come in?”

_ Yes.  _ “No, come on in.” 

Phil stepped aside, opening the door a fraction more and leading Dream over to the couch. His eyes widened in panic at the sight of Tommy’s down feathers on the floor. He gently swept them under the couch, shuffling slightly to make the movements appear natural. “Did you need something?” Phil asks, forcing a casual tone.

Dream seemed to think over the question. “I wanted to check in with Techno, ask what his plans were now.”

_ Liar. _

“He is retired now, living the life of a peaceful farmer.”

The masked man nodded quietly. “You know what, Philza?” The blond tilted his head at the other. “A little birdy told me something.”

Phil paused for a fraction of a second, only showing his true worry in that moment, before resigning his emotions in. He reinstilled the facade of calm and replied like such; “Oh? What’s that?”

Dream’s mask shifted upwards a slight bit as he leaned closer, voice filled with unfiltered joy. “You used those pretty little wings of your’s, didn’t you?”

There was a faint rustling from the floor upstairs that only aided to the stress-induced pain in Phil’s stomach. The image was down, the fear evident on his face as the man next to him cackled. “ _ And  _ you’re harboring a little bird, aren’t you?”

“I don't know what you’re talking about, Dream.” 

It really wasn’t hard to see that the avian was lying; his feathers were puffed beyond belief and his eyes were blown wide. 

“Don't give me that. I know he’s up there. Disappearing from exile, leaving nothing but blood and feathers behind? Leaving me to find some  _ gray  _ feathers. Who had gray feathers, Phil?”

There was no way out of this now. Phil struggled into a seemingly calm persona, shoulders squared and eyes narrow. “Regardless of whether he is here or not is none of your business, Dream. You lied to me and told me my son was dead-”

“Like you even  _ cared _ .” Dream hissed. “You didn’t visit him once while he was in exile.”

“You told me he didn’t care! You told me he didn’t want to see me!”

Dream sighed loudly and grabbed the hilt of his axe between his fingers. “Regardless of whether Tommy is here or not is not my first priority.” He glared from behind the mask, a twisted smile overtaking his mouth. “You broke a server rule, Philza. As an Admin, I must enforce those rules. Luckily for you, you don't need to be banned, I have something I want more.”

Phil’s blood ran cold, stealing a glance towards the top of the ladder and freezing when blue met blue. Tommy was leaning down quietly, eyes wide and pupils shrunk down in fear. Dream followed the older’s gaze, smile widening when locking on the little blond looking down. “Tommy! There you are!” He spoke, tone slick with fake-relief. 

The hooded man took a step forward, stopping short as a large wing darted out to stop him. It was reflex for Phil to protect his kids, but he should’ve muffled this instinct. Dream unlatched his axe and held it against Phil’s wing, fingertips digging painfully into the gray feathers. “Get in my way and I will  _ not  _ hesitate to chop this off.” He whispered.

Phil froze, feathers ruffled in fear. He kept his eyes locked to the small dots of the mask before sighing and relenting, wing collapsing behind his back. He looked once more up at Tommy, but couldn't see him anymore, only feathers in his wake. 

“Where’d he go?” Dream spoke to himself.

There was a muffled thud from outside, something falling into the snow. The head of the hood turned slowly towards Phil, angled to the side. “Looks like he tried to fly. Doesn’t he know clipped birdies can’t escape?”

Phil’s blood roared in his ears as his wing reflexively smacked against Dream. He used the opening to dart out of the house and into the cold, his lack of fur clothing left him shaking in the cold. He breathed in the painful, chilling air. His wings folded at his sides, fluffed up against the wind. 

He ran to the side of the house and noticed the feathers and faint blood strewn on the ground. The fear was nearly paralyzing. Phil grit his teeth and plunged into the snow towards the unmoving lump of flesh and feathers on the ground. A hand grabbed onto his folded wing, pulling him back with a cry. A foot landed painfully against his chest. “Pets shouldn’t be able to fly.” 

The shadow of an axe crossed over Phil’s face, eyes wide in fear. The muscles on his wings strained with the effort of struggling, hands wrapped tightly around the foot on his chest. There was nothing in his pockets, no potions or weapons, to help. Phil starred up towards the ever shining axe in frantic fear.

.

.

.

Tommy felt painful, burning warmth against his exposed skin. There was a pounding in his head that pulsed in his ears as he forced himself onto his elbows. The snow was bristling and near-painful. 

A hand, oddly warm and wet, grabbed harshly onto his arm and yanked him, limply, onto his feet. Tommy cried out, head bobbing back and forth with dizziness. “We’re leaving.” 

Tommy’s eyes widened, flinching slightly to the brightness of the snow. “N-No.” his voice was quiet as he struggled against the fingers wrapped tightly around him. “Let me go!”

He caught sight of a harshly different color on the snow, eyes flicking from the green to red. Tommy’s struggling stilled, even just for a second, at the stomach churning sight. 

Phil lay, hands covering his mouth, and wing pinned under a shining axe. The snow was coated in a deep crimson, gently flowing from the wound. 

Tommy felt his blood still and body shake. The snow wasn’t cold anymore, the hand on his arm no longer hurt, the throb in his head was gone. 

Dream didn’t seem as frightening when adrenaline was in play.

The small avian screamed, hand clawing and teeth gnawing at the fingers. His wings flapped crazily, feathers littering the ground from the frantic movements. Dream hissed slightly at the pain from the scratching. “Stop fucking fi-” 

Tommy fell backwards and into the snow. He looked up towards the masked man and gawked at the shining metal poking through Dream’s shoulder. “Wha-”

“Tommy, what’s going on?”

The boy looked up towards Techno, eyes round with fear and the overwhelming sensation of panic. The piglin locked eyes with Phil, who was struggling to pull the axe from his wing. Techno stumbled over to the avian.

Tommy watched in a fuzzy, disorienting state as Techno pried the axe from between feathers. Blood oozed from the wound slowly. Phil leaned against Techno heavily as they trudged towards the door, injured wing dragging limply behind them. “Tommy. Come on.”

He flinched and shuffled to his feet, body swaying as he struggled with light-headedness. Tommy walked up the stairs and through the open door, trying his hardest to ignore the trail of blood that followed into the living room. 

Phil was sat on the couch, face screwed tight with pain as Techo gently cleaned the wound. The blood was thin and the appendage was oddly angled, somewhat resembling a forth joint. Tommy’s eyes burned with tears but he was frozen in place. It was his fault. Dream was here for him, and he ran. It was his fault entirely.

“I-Im so-rry.” Tommy choked, shaking violently and clutching his own shirt between his fingers. “I sh-should’ve gone with him. I’m sorry.”

Techno watched the younger crumble, sighing and sifting his unblooded hand through his hair. Phil, through the pained expression, looked up towards his eldest. His eyes flicked towards Tommy in a silent plea. The piglin rolled his eyes and huffed through his snout. 

He might care for Tommy, but he was never good with emotional confrontation. Phil was always the one to handle the psychological issues while Techno would solve the physical ones. 

But as he watched his usually loud, obnoxious brother become a pitiful pile of snot and tears, Techno couldn’t help the pang of sadness in his chest. He squashed it away with a grunt and slowly began bandaging the wound in healing-soaked fabric. “Come here Tommy.”

Said avian flinched at the call of his name, feeling small and childish under the steady, crimson gaze. Tommy slowly unraveled the hold on his shirt and made tediously slow steps forward. Techno sighed again and reached a hooved hand towards the youngest. Tommy took the hand and was suddenly pulled into a side hug, somewhat awkwardly. “Don’t beat yourself up over it. Dream’s a dick anyway.”

The nonchalant reply got a short laugh. Techno squeezed Tommy’s shoulders once before pushing him away. “That’s enough skin-on-skin contact.” 

Phil looked up at his two sons sleepily, pain just a dull throb after the affects of the healing potion set in. He opened his arms out, quietly asking for a hug. Tommy slowly krept to his side, wrapping his arms loosely around his father. He buried his head in Phil’s shoulder and shuttered at the feeling of a hand stroking down his feathers. A soft chuckle from beneath him, “Did you really try to jump from the window?” 

Tommy snorted somewhat loudly, shoulders tense with laughter. “Try? I did! I panicked and just jumped from the window. Hurt like a bitch! Do you know how tiny that window is?”

“You broke a few feathers on the way down, too.” Phil commented, hand gently laid over the broken and crooked feathers. 

“I soared gracefully onto the ground. I don't know what you’re talking about, bitch.” 

Even Techno laughed at that, albeit quietly and really only a snort, but it still had Tommy beaming. “Eh? Those crumpled feathers say otherwise.” 

“What happened to Dream?” Tommy somewhat hesitantly asked.

“I took one of his lives.”

Tommy nodded slowly, somewhat remembering the glinting metal in Dream’s shoulder. His head was all fuzzy then, probably from the fall and the panic, but now he could think somewhat clearly. Everything was still dizzy, but it was with sleep now. Whereas he was cold earlier, the warmth of the body next to him and the heat from the fire was welcoming. It was intense but lulled Tommy into a happy stare of exhaustion. He yawned, mouth open wide and hand gripping Phil’s robe. A hand softly pushed back the hair from his forehead, calloused hands familiar. “Go to sleep Toms. It’s been a stressful day.”

Tommy shook his head stubbornly but soon succumbed to the exhaustion weighing his eyelids down. “Good night, son.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end for this two-parter! But dont worry, I'll be making more Tommywingit content! They'll all be added to this little series, so be on the look-out for more!


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